


Frozen Emotions

by orphan_account



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clowns, F/M, Hidden Depths, Invisibility, M/M, Masks, Metaphors, Mutually Unrequited, Photographs, Self Confidence Issues, Soul-Searching, Symbolism, Tears, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The picture has no background. There are no landscapes or bright flashes of colour behind them, only a string of bland white spotlights illuminating them. It’s strange and foreign; there are usually blazed with sparkles and exotic landscapes they’ve never even seen in catalogues. Yet now, they are completely vulnerable. Their emotions are clear and true, they aren’t basked in honey and joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Emotions

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually an idea for me to draw, but i can't draw for shit so

The picture has no background. There are no landscapes or bright flashes of colour behind them, only a string of bland white spotlights illuminating them. It’s strange and foreign; they are usually blazed with sparkles and exotic landscapes they’ve never even thought about visiting. Yet now, they are completely vulnerable. Their emotions are clear and true, they aren’t basked in honey and joy. They aren’t coated with dramatic gestures or stupid actions.

They’re so blaringly clear, so realistic. It makes me question whether they are the people they show themselves to be, or whether everything I know is a lie. It makes me believe in hell, that this is hell. That the peaceful nothingness that comes with death, is heaven. That’s how much this one photograph affects me, it’s crazy.

Kyoya and Kaoru are in the centre, their spotlight is the brightest, and they are the focus. Their hands are entwined loosely, Kyoya’s fingers gripping hard while Kaoru’s look like they want to drift away. They are back to back, though not touching. They are not reliant on each other, not anymore.

Kaoru’s shoulders are curved inwards, trying to shield himself from Kyoya. His head betraying him and moving to gaze at him longingly, his mouth pursued in an expression I can’t pinpoint. He’s wearing light shades, the material around his body thin and seemingly weightless. His skin a pale white and matching the white board at the back. The only thing keeping him from fading in the photograph is the bright red. The bright orange colours that are distinctively Hitachiin. He feels invisible. He is invisible, without the bright orange hairs and golden eyes.

Kyoya is bold. His back is straightened out like a robot, his head looking forward; he’s fighting to keep his eyes in front of him, to keep his attention on the figures in front of him. He’s trying to focus on the future, rather than the past. The past which is constantly picking hairs from his head, and removing the dandruff from his skin forcefully. The past that only reminds him that he wasn’t good enough. He didn’t try hard enough. He didn’t think enough. He didn’t do enough. He didn’t love Kaoru enough to save him, to be with him. He just wasn’t enough for anyone.

It burns my eyes, the boldness of Kyoya’s figure. He’s so noticeable. He’s so bright compared to everyone else. He sticks out like a sour thumb. His clothes are too dark, too heavy. His structure is too fixed, too much like a statue that belongs in front of memorable buildings. He can’t get away from his past. Nobody will forget, nobody will help him move on. It’s too blaring and too big for him to ignore, for anyone to ignore. Running away isn’t an option. Running away was never an option.

He wants to disappear. Kyoya wants to disappear into the nothingness, while Kaoru clings onto the characteristics that belong to him (that don’t also belong to Hikaru) and begs not to fade and disappear. He doesn’t want to leave, to be replaced. Yet Kyoya, he’s almost begging to be erased. He hates being so bold. Kaoru should envy him, yet his eyes are longing for Kyoya, not the power he possesses.

It makes me want to laugh, about how drastically different they are in regards to their fundamentals. About how they thought it would actually work out. About how I thought it would work out. 

* * *

 

Tamaki is draped across Kaoru, his arms tightly wrapped around Kaoru’s waist lovingly. His face is tilted upwards, his eyes dripping tears that are forever falling. A half full jug is pressed to his cheek, the rim of the glass just below his eyes. The fingers wrapping around the jug are thin and pale, you could say they were ‘invisible’. It’s almost too clear, that Kaoru is collecting his tears. He’s cleaning Tamaki up, he’s fixing him. He’s comforting him, supporting him. I can’t help but think it’s selfish. Kaoru’s making himself feel better by helping Tamaki, he’s not doing it out of kindness. He’s hardly paying attention, yet Tamaki is staring at him as if he is a saviour. He’s staring at Kaoru as if he is his world, as if he was the sole purpose Tamaki as alive. It makes me pity them both.

Hikaru is leaning his back against Tamaki’s, his eyes looking up to the ceiling. His skin is white, not invisible white like Kaoru’s was, but forcibly white. His whole body was covered in white paint and confident markings. His mouth was black, and strong clown like strokes made his smile wide and reach his cheeks. His skin was free of imperfections and was coated with everything Hikaru wanted to be, everything he wanted others to see him as.

His clothes are bright and poufy. Diamond shapes are covering every aspect of the jumpsuit and giant pink ruffles are adorning the sleeves, while ridiculously huge boots cover his feet. His boots, are so obviously, too big for him. His boots are so arrogant and confident, he can’t fill them completely. He can’t be his boots, he can just imitate them and do everything he can to match their image. To match the person he wants to be.

To match the strong and mean Hitachiin who wouldn’t hesitate to metaphorically rip your heart out. To be the playful Hitachiin who is always happy, who is always content with everything and anything he does. To be the Hitachiin that’s so sure of himself, so sure that he’s the best being. To be the person that loves his appearance, the person who loves the bright red hair and slim structure.

He can paint himself in all the colours of the rainbow. He can paint himself as everything he wants. He can. He does, every single day. He covers the dark freckles adorning his face and he volumes his mop of hair every day. He pushes his false confidence to everyone and puts everyone down (emotionally) every day. He poufs out his chest and yells that he’s wanted, that he’s needed, that he’s necessary. It does make himself feel better in a sense. The only person he’s ever trusted in his life is him (and maybe Kaoru), so when he says it, it’s actually true. But in so many ways, it makes him feel worse.

He’s such a shitty person. He’s such a weak person. He can’t protect himself without hiding aspects of his personality or appearance. He can’t feel good about himself without vocally expressing his ‘nice’ features a least a couple times a day. He can’t feel good about himself without making himself believe that everyone else is ugly, mean and stuck up. He’s forcing his self-image onto everyone else around him.

Believe me, he does want to change. He wants to be better. He wants to be nicer. He wants to abandon the crippling hurt and disappointment every-time he thinks about himself. He wants to genuinely compliment people. He wants to stroll around with his dark freckles visible. He wants to be him. He wants to show people what he has to offer, what he can do. To show that he’s not just an emotionless arsehole. But if he sees himself like this, who’s to say nobody else will? He’s much more comfortable with his paint.

If I’m honest, it’d be so much easier for Hikaru if Tamaki had never stripped the paint from his skin, and saw the beautiful person underneath. Now Hikaru’s seemingly obsessed with the love and comfort Tamaki is giving him, that he can’t think straight. He isn’t applying the walls of paint he used to. He isn’t protecting himself as he used to. He’s clingy. He’s needy.

He doesn’t understand that Tamaki’s feelings aren’t romantic. He doesn’t understand the looks Tamaki gives Kaoru. He doesn’t understand anything but the contentedness in his soul and the feeling that he’s flying. He’ll get hurt, and he’ll fall twice as hard as the first time. He’ll turn into an actual clown.

* * *

 

Haruhi is kneeling on the floor, clinging to Kyoya’s legs for sanity. Her whole body is painted red with glints of orange glitter. She has a red dress on, it matches her skin effortlessly, and it’s simple and practical but has letters on the dress that I can’t read. Her waist and legs are bound with tight black rope and her hair is curled into cylinders.

The ropes are constricting her, they are pulling her back and stopping her from reaching her potential. They keep the fiery red of her skin noticeable and flowing through her body. They almost fuel her anger, her frustration. She can’t undo them, she can’t un-attach herself from the black ropes of her past. They still trouble her, they still frustrate her. They still force her to be angry with the world. They still stop her from depending on others.

They are old, the ropes have been there for years, yet she still can’t escape them. She can’t escape the wounds that have been made by the ropes, she can only try to reduce the swelling. She can’t heal them. All she can do is continue to their purpose, to fuel her frustrations in everything she does. All she can do is let the ropes pull her emotions into the familiar feeling of passive anger and stop her from thinking rationally. She lets them pull her into different directions, directions that are unsatisfying but undoubtedly secure. It’s all she can do. She can’t remove them, she stopped trying before she even noticed the ropes.

It was like she knew that if she would try hard enough, she’d blow. She would destroy herself, turn herself into a completely different human being. She’d turn cranky and ever move she (or anyone else) would make. She would start to bully herself, judge herself. She would start to put all her frustrations onto everyone else, blame everything on people that have no leeway on how the world works.

And I wonder, whether Hikaru was ever a stick of dynamite. I wonder, if Haruhi was to blow, would she turn into a clown? Or would she simply disappear. I don’t think Haruhi could handle hating herself like Hikaru can.

Maybe I shouldn’t compare the two of them, they are two individuals after all. Drastically different too. But can you really help it, when both situations are similar in ways? Hikaru had to have blown up at one point, to be so enclosed. Haruhi seems so close to wearing a mask.

Takashi is running his fingers through the hairs at the base of Haruhi’s neck. His skin is a rusty golden colour with harsh but thin black lines outlining everything on his body. No colour is drastically different to the rusty cream of his skin. He looks like an old, forgotten photograph. He’s not fading like Kaoru is, he’s still there. He’s still noticed in the back of everybody’s mind. He’s not completely forgotten and lost like Kaoru is.

Though in ways, Takashi’s situation is worse. They know he’s there. They know he needs attention. They know that, really, they should speak to him. They should involve him. But they don’t. They don’t because he’s an old photograph. He’s not exciting like everyone else. He’s not disappearing or acting robotic. He’s not wearing extravagant face-paint. He doesn’t have a timer until he blows up. He’s just simply lived his days, he’s been replaced by newer and prettier versions of photographs. He’s not needed by them anymore. He’s not wanted by them anymore.

Sure, he’ll get the wandering thoughts at the back of everyone’s mind. Since, he’s still at the back of the album, he’s still there. He’ll never be truly forgotten. Just pushed at the back of everybody’s mind. I decide, that maybe, I should visit the back of my photo albums more often. You really will find some beautiful and forgotten things there. Maybe I should show Haruhi the back (of the album) as well, I’m sure she would find something better than the unrequited security she finds in Kyoya.

* * *

 

I try to rip it up, to crumble it through my fingers. It didn’t even form a crease in the photograph. I knew it wouldn’t, because no matter how strong I am, nothing can destroy soul representations. I knew that before I took a peak at the photograph, yet I still did it.

I was so curious about everyone’s ‘dark side’ that I betrayed them in a way. They trusted me, and I evaded their personal lives, it just goes to show what person I am, and what kind of soul representation I have. It’s worrying that I’m not in the picture. I suppose that also shows what kind of person I am too, and what other people think of me. Apparently, not very much.

I know I’m being stupid. I know I’m pitying myself. I know that never in a million years, would I end up on this photograph. The whole thing is based on them and their romantic relationships with each other. I was never a focus. I never had any romantic feelings towards them, and they didn’t have any towards me. Why would I be in the picture?

“You asked to see it,” Renge taunted, her smirk widening as I thrust it into her hands. Her body turning into an awkward position as she pushed the picture into her pocket.

“You owe me a favour, since you begged so nicely to take a peek at the picture after I’d told you over and over, you wouldn’t like it,” Renge added, her voice teasing and high pitched at the end syllables of each word.

“I told you there would be consequences. You’ll never look at them the same again,” She continued, her mouth turning impossibly wide and into a Cheshire grin. Her fingers moving to tuck stray hairs behind her ears casually. She avoided nervousness and fear effortlessly, without having an aura of power. It was actually, pretty amazing.

“I don’t regret it at all!” I exclaimed, putting on a smile for her. She didn’t need to know anything but that I was content with her information. All of that, of course, is a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> why do i always write too much for Hikaru?? Tamaki is his downfall but also his redemption, i think that's pretty.  
> and erm, can you guess who's pov is this? i'm pretty sure it's obvious but.


End file.
